


I Remember You

by Shippertrash_05



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Drama, Fluff and Smut, Gay, Gay Sex, Love, M/M, Memories, Past Relationship(s), Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Reference to the Past, Reincarnated Steve Rogers, Reincarnation, Shameless Smut, smol steve, winter soldier - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-04
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-02 00:05:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14532315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shippertrash_05/pseuds/Shippertrash_05
Summary: ||. Alternate Universe - Steve Rogers died in the ice after WWII .||Steve finds himself reincarnated and living in Brooklyn when some guy breaks into his apartment and spends the night.Only to find out that 'guy' is none other than the Winter Soldier.





	1. One

Everyone had heard of his name by now, about the shooting incident that left citizens petrified. “The Winter Soldier”, he was commonly known by. A larger male that was always draped in black and his mouth masked like a muzzled dog. He was violent, malicious. Just about everyone who had met his wrath wasn’t fortunate enough to walk away, and those who did held some sort of fatal injury. Even S.H.I.E.L.D. was rendered unable to properly handle the threat, the man attacking and supposedly killing Nick Fury.   
  
He hadn’t always been this way, wasn’t always some sort of guns for hire. No, he was James Barnes from the 1940s who had ‘died’ during World War II. H.Y.D.R.A. had found the male at the bottom of a ravine with a missing arm, dragging him to a facility and conducting experiments on him. Breaking him like an animal, stripping him of his memories, and granting him a new metallic limb. They turned him into a living weapon that only popped up rarely, known as a Ghost.  
  
In this last time out of his cryogenic tube, James, better known as Bucky, had been able to regain some sort of memories. Slivers, tiny pieces that he could just barely put together but enough to know that there was more to him than this. That this wasn’t what he was supposed to be doing. This wasn’t him, this wasn’t Bucky. When attempting to break free from H.Y.D.R.A. and obtain some sort of independence it only seemed to end in violent fighting. The brunet being shot in the process, taking serious injury to his right arm.  
  
He’d been hopping from place to place, attempting to find somewhere to just simply be. Where he could gather his wits and try to treat his arm after digging the bullet out of the wound that was inflicted upon him.   
  
When the soldier found himself in a calmer neighborhood, one that seemed more so closed off, he went for the first home that seemed to be vacant. Where the lights were all out and everything was silent in the evening. Picking the lock on the first floor window and sliding it up before climbing in.  
  
The room was more so cramp, cluttered with books and papers. Bucky having to squint to have his eyes adjust to the darkness that enveloped the closed off space. The sketchpads, the drawing desk. The discarded pencils and supplies. Bucky maneuvered around it all with the hopes he wouldn’t cause any sound, eventually finding somewhere to place himself against the cool wall. Pressing his back to the flat surface before sliding down to meet the floor.  
  
From the darkness of the home, Bucky thought it was safe to assume it was empty for the time being. That the owner and whomever else wasn’t present and if they were had no purpose to come into the closed off room. Bucky’s tired eyes fluttered shut although still did his best to stay conscious; he just wanted to find some sort of relaxation before having to up and bolt again.   
  
If he had ill intent he would’ve already acted on it. He could easily kill anyone who was in the house, raid the place, take it as his own. It wouldn’t be hard. Actually, it’d almost be too easy. But that wasn’t him. Not anymore, at least.   
  
Time progressively slipped from Bucky. Seconds to minutes, and after the first few he lost track.   
  
Nine minutes. Ten minutes. Eleven minutes. Twelve minutes.  
  
After the first hour, everything seemed to move quicker. The evening slowly shifting into dawn and Bucky having fell into some sort of light slumber. Propped against a stack of books that leaned against an overflowing book case in order to support his body.   
  
Though when he heard the light click of the knob and the soft creaking of the door opening, his body to sprung to life. He hadn’t even heard someone approaching, who the hell could it be? Had Bucky really been that careless?

Steve had heard the stories about the Winter Soldier, but he wasn’t all that interested in them. He saw a man who had trained and forced into it. He wasn’t entirely sure why he knew such a thing about the man who had been sent to kill people. But he just felt it.  
  
He had heard the newest report of the Winter Soldier being on the loose now. That people should be worried. But honestly what did Steve have to worry about in his tiny apartment? He was nothing more than an art student at NYU. His second bedroom was filled with his art and his books instead of a roommate.  
  
He had been sleeping so soundly that he hadn’t even realized the soldier had snuck into his drawing room. He woke up early the next morning, planning on finishing up his homework. He almost jumped at the sight of the soldier standing there. Steve’s heart raced in his chest, staring at the man there. Bleeding. His eyes widened slightly.  
  
“You’re- you’re bleeding!” He bleated quickly, reaching for the rag on his desk. He had no idea what came over him as he raced to the other male, not even thinking as his hand pressed the rag to the man’s arm.

Bucky's eyes were wide as a mask covered his mouth, his eyes being the only thing that could indicate emotion at this point. Shock and almost fear when his gaze fell onto the smaller man. He expected to hear shouting, threats, or him to call the police immediately. But he was taken back when hearing the concern in the man's voice.  
  
Someone was worried about him? What?   
  
Bucky attempted to jolt back when the man tried to cover his injury, back coming into contact with the wall that had only been inches behind him. A light hiss of pain when he applied pressure to the open bullet wound on his arm. What was he doing? Didn't this man know he could get killed?  
  
The pain sent him into a violent frenzy for a few seconds, the soldier in him going into fight mode. Grabbing Steve by the wrist sharply and pinning him down to the floor. It was a common reaction he had at this point. His world was limited to two options. It was Bucky, or them. And he sure as hell didn't want any more harm his way.  
  
Bucky loomed over him as he held him down, blue eyes still wide to express that despite his action, he was afraid. He wasn't trying to hurt Steve, much rather hold him there with his metal arm. He was tempted to apologize, but he couldn't find it in himself to speak. Bucky only restrained Steve's one arm that held the now bloodied rag, giving him free movement to the rest of his body if desired.

Steve recognized his mistake the second his hands pressed against the soldier’s arm. His cheeks flushed slightly, lips patting in surprise as the taller male yanked away from him. He gasped as his back hit the floor, arching slightly from the pain. The breath whooshed from his lungs as he hit the floor. He was slightly surprised that his left arm was free while the right with the bloodied rag was pinned above his head.  
  
“I-I’m sorry... I can... I can sew up the wound.. I didn’t mean to frighten you...” he whispered, trying to hold back his cough. He could feel his lungs starting to ache slightly, his asthma acting up. He struggled slightly for a moment, his left hand reaching for his pocket where he kept his inhaler.

Bucky quickly took note of how his breathing began to differ. At first he thought maybe it was because it was afraid, but when his hand went for the inhaler he understood almost instantly. He unlatched his metallic hand and pulled back, placing his hand back over the bullet wound. Afraid to apply pressure, but keeping it covered as if hiding it would make it go away.  
  
This was the first person who didn't come at him with ill will. The soldier was so used to violence, being attacked. Shot at, hit, punched, kicked, whipped, electrocuted. You name it. So the first time someone came at him with pure intentions he didn't know to react.  
  
His lips tightened between the mask and his brow lowered a small bit. Didn't he know someone who had breathing problems, too? He couldn't remember.  
  
"Is it just you here..?" Bucky's voice partially muffled from the black mask covering his mouth. It would be smart to know if he'd have anyone else to worry about rather than this scrawny man.

Steve pressed the inhaler to his lips, gasping and sucking on the air gratefully. He panted softly, pushing himself up quickly to stare at the soldier. He watched at the metal arm hovered over the wound but didn’t apply pressure and he silently worried.  
  
“Y-yes... I live here by myself.” He admitted, probably a stupid thing to do honestly. The soldier could kill him without a second thought, but Steve doubted that he would. No the way he had pinned Steve had left his other arm free, giving Steve the option to move. He doubted he was in any danger.  
  
“Listen... you need... you need to let me take care of that for you...” Steve whispered, still clutching onto the bloody rag.

Although there seemed to be some sort of trust from Steve, Bucky on the other hand was not as easily persuaded. The only questioned that racked his mind was why this man hadn't called the police yet or even for help, and if he was going to. And if he was going to, when?  
  
Upon hearing that he was all alone, there seemed to be a tinge of connection there. Faint. He obviously had health problems, the inhaler in hand was a dead give away. Wasn't it bad for him to be alone like this? No one to even look out for him?  
  
"It's fine.." He tried to insist, eyes slowly shifting back to the window he had managed to climb in from.   
  
Bucky could run. It wouldn't be hard, but he wouldn't get far. He was too tired, too strained, too tense. Tired eyes fell back onto Steve and looked over his form.   
  
He shouldn't be here alone, he thought to himself. Only to give a light shake of his head and ponder why he even cared.

Steve frowned softly and shook his head for a moment. “It’s not fine. You’re  _bleeding_.” He hissed, crossing his arms over his chest. “That is literally the definition of not fine.” He shook his head slightly.  
  
“Honestly you can’t go to the hospital. They’d turn you in before even looking at that arm. I have some things here that would be fine to patch you up for now.” He flicked his eyes toward the window. “You can leave if you want. It’s not like I’m gonna tell anyone. But you’re not gonna make it a few more blocks if you don’t let me look at the damn wound.”

Something felt almost familiar about the situation, but Bucky couldn't place it. For a little guy, the blond was persistent and Bucky was too tired to argue. The soldier rolled his eyes and, with a light groan, he gave a nod of his head.  
  
"Fine, fine.." he grumbled in response.  
  
He was almost tempted to ask if Steve knew him. With how calm he was, nonchalant about a killer being in his home, how could he not ask? But after a few seconds of thinking, Bucky decided to ask later on when he could fully process everything.  
  
In the mean time he was bewildered and tired, crimson caking his metallic hand.

Steve sort of expected more of an argument, was about to open his mouth and proceed to argue. But then the soldier agreed and Steve felt slightly faint. He was so glad that he would be able to do something for him at least. “Come on then. Everything is in the kitchen.” He murmured and made his way out of the drawing room.  
  
“My name’s Steve by the way.” He three over his shoulder, glancing back for a moment. He couldn’t help but smile a little bit at the older and taller male. He pulled out some rubbing alcohol from the cabinet, as well as some band aides. He glanced back over at the other man. “Come on. You’re gonna have to sit.” He mumbled and laughed softly.

If he hadn't been so tired, if he wasn't lacking the energy, he would've argued. Would've gone kicking and screaming. But this man was willing to help for the time being and Bucky would be stupid to deny it.   
  
Bucky followed along hesitantly, eyes darting from side to side to take in the home. He stayed here? How lonely it must be.  
  
"My name is Bucky.. I think.." The brunet attempted to introduce himself though he wasn't entirely sure on his name aside from the title "Winter Soldier".   
  
When being instructed to take a seat he took one final glance around the room before dropping into one of the kitchen chairs that screeched against the floor. Blue eyes looked up at Steve that still held some sort of fear. But who could blame him for being afraid?

Steve set the supplies he had retrieved out on the table, glancing over at Bucky. There was something he couldn’t quite place in those eyes, as if Steve /knew/ them. But that couldn’t be possible? Right?  
  
A soft frown settled on his lips at the small ‘I think’ that Bucky muttered. Why was it I think? Steve’s lips pursed, thoughts roaming over what he had considered all these months. That the Winter Soldier wasn’t in control of himself before.  
  
“You should probably take that off...” he murmured, gesturing to Bucky’s uniform. He wouldn’t be able to properly clean the wound with that on.

Bucky arched a single brow when he heard Steve speak of getting out of his uniform, staring for a few seconds before then understanding. He carefully began to undo the buckles and belts on his torso. Dropping the harness that wrapped around his chest onto the ground and being extremely cautious when pulling off his top.   
  
He didn't dare meddle with with his injured arm, hissing when he pulled the clinging fabric off the flesh to expose the bullet wound.   
  
Saying it hurt was an understatement. It was excruciating, but it wasn't the worst he'd ever felt. Once if was off, he dropped it with the other discarded articles that were strapped onto his torso, tired eyes looking back up at Steve. With his vibranium arm, he raised a hand to pull off the mask that covered his mouth and dropped that, too.  
  
"..There.."

Steve stared as he discarded the upper part of the uniform. Mostly because of how many buckles Bucky had to undo, his hands moving quickly and efficiently. He had the rubbing alcohol in one hand and a small cloth in the other, waiting in silence as Bucky removed the uniform. His breath caught momentarily in his throat at the sight of Bucky’s face the moment he pulled the half mask off.  
  
He swallowed roughly, not even looking at the muscles chest that made his legs feel like jelly, instead staring at Bucky’s right arm and at the bullet wound. He silently prayed that the bullet was /not/ in his arm because he wouldn’t be able to get that out.  
  
“T-Thank you. I’m going to clean it first okay? So don’t jump me or anything. I like being pinned down as much as the next guy but right now wouldn’t be the best time.” He tried to joke, forcing a soft chuckle from his lips before his expression turned serious. “This will probably sting...” He murmured as he stepped forward. He waited for a second before gently pouring some rubbing alcohol over the wound. He pressed the cloth gently to it, trying to feel for the bullet at the same time. “Do you... is the bullet still in there?” He asked in a quiet tone.

Despite Steve's crack at humor, Bucky didn't seem too look all that amused. Though there was some sort of comfort that this man wasn't so tense in the soldiers presence. Relief, even. He wasn't being seen as a monster for once and it was definitely something different.   
  
Bucky's eyes seemed to be focused on his own lap; staring at his clothed lap like a zombie only to give a faint nod of his head in response to Steve. Mentally trying to prepare himself for the pain to follow. Though no matter how long he tried to convince himself it wouldn't hurt, it most certainly would.   
  
When Steve applied to cloth to the injury he hissed in response while trying to stay out in his seat. Try not to fight or jerk, Steve was just trying to help after all. But fuck, it hurt.   
  
"I dug it out.." Bucky managed between groans and growls, clenched fists and a tightened jaw. Baring his teeth like a dog about to attack. His chest raising and dropping rather quickly and his form shuddering faintly.  
  
Calm down Bucky. He had to tell himself that over and over, try to stabilize himself.

“I’m sorry I’m sorry.” Steve repeated over and over as he gently wiped the cloth over the wound, cleaning it tenderly. “That’s good that the bullet is gone. I’m glad you were able to get it out.” He did his best to keep his voice from shaking. What exactly was he doing? Helping a known criminal? A known killer? But.... he hadn’t tried to hurt Steve at all. Hadn’t attacked him except for when Steve tried to stop the bleeding, as if it had been a reflex for Bucky.  
  
He finished cleaning the wound, taking some gauze from his little pile of things and placing it over the bullet wound. He started to wrap Bucky’s arm, making sure the gauze was secure underneath the wrapping. He took a deep breath, biting his bottom lip gently and tucking the end of the wrapping underneath the others.  
  
“There... we should... I mean... you should watch it just in case... I can give you the things you might need to change the gauze...”

Bucky was almost confused by the flurry of apologies, why was Steve apologizing to him? If anything it should've been the other way around. Thoughts were interrupted by the to be of pain that jolted down his arm and left his fingers momentarily numb. The lack of blood was getting to him, he felt woozy.   
  
His head dropped back once Steve has finally finished, eyes fluttering shut and his breathing slowing back of its normal pace. He was grateful. Extremely grateful. Something about this man gave him a familiar sense of warmth.   
  
But Bucky never met him before today. Atleast, from what he was able to remember. Another nod at Steve's words and after a stiff silence, Bucky spoke up.   
  
"Do.. I know you..?" Bucky quietly asked, lifting his head back up meet eye to eye with Steve.


	2. Two

Steve’s fingers shook slightly as he set the rest of the wrapping down. He took the cloth over to the sink, starting to rinse out the blood there. He was glad that he could help Bucky, even in this small way. Though he still had no clue as to why honestly.  
  
“I don’t.. think so?” Steve glanced over at Bucky for a moment. He set the stained cloth down in the sink, biting his bottom lip gently. “Do you come on this side of town often Bucky?” He tilted his head to the side. “I think I’d remember a metal arm like yours.”

Upon Steve's response he didn't seem all that surprised. He assumed it was coincidence now, the feelings he held towards this newly met man. Though something lingered there that he couldn't shake.   
  
Hearing the question he only seemed to reply with a faint shake of his head. No, he didn't remembering being out here. So that means he'd never been here before, right?   
  
The way his name rolled off Steve's togje though gave him chills. Normally he was used to some sort of coding name or an alias. So hearing someone say the name he assumed to be his was strange yet comforting.   
  
"..Why are you alone here..? If I were anyone else you could've gotten seriously hurt.." this was the most talkative the soldier had been in a long while, even throwing himself off at the sound of his own voice. "Don't you have friends or something..? You know.. thatll check up on you."   
  
His voice was stern, cold. Tired. But still he remained seated and relaxed in the wooden chair, examining the wrapping on his arm. Seemed Steve knew what he was doing.   
  
"You help any stranger that lingers into your house..?"

Steve leaned against the counter, biting his lip gently and watching as Bucky examines the wrappings on his arms. “I’ve lived on my own for awhile. Ever since school started.” He shrugged slightly. “I can take care of myself and honestly...” ‘if it was anyone else I wouldn’t have helped them.’  
  
He still didn’t know why he /had/ helped Bucky. Maybe it was the sense of calm that he suddenly was overwhelmed with just at the sight of him. He probably shouldn’t have been talking so much but he couldn’t help himself.  
  
“I don’t really have too many friends..” Steve shrugged slightly. “And no. But you were hurt. And I don’t really believe everything they say about you.” He replied calmly, rolling his shoulders for a moment before straightening.

Everything they said about him. The words rang through his ears and in the short time of being here he had let it slip from his mind everything that he had been trying to run from. Right, he was viewed as a killer among the nation.   
  
His gaze raised to look at one of the closer windows, how the sky lit up the morning and Bucky knew he couldn't leave now. He'd be seen too easily, the police would be involved right away as well as S.h.i.e.l.d.   
  
"May.. May I stay here.. just until the sun goes down, then I'll be off.." Bucky arched to ask, his brow knitting a small bit as he look at Steve from where he sat. "If I go now, I'll surely be seen.."   
  
That, and part of him felt obligated to look after this man for the time being in return for treating Bucky. Besides, he was all on his own and Bucky knew what that was like all too well.

Steve glanced up at Bucky, tilting his head to the side. “You can stay as long as you want honestly. Nobody will bother you here. Nobody will even know that you are here.” He murmured and bit his lip.  
  
“Bathroom is right through that door.” He pointed. “And if you want to sleep, my bedroom is right through here.” He pointed to the other door. “There’s food in the fridge, and you can have whatever you want.” He waved his hand slightly. “I would stay but I have to get to class.” He frowned for a moment, glancing at his watch. He was going to be late if he didn’t hurry.

Bucky granted Steve a slow nod in response to indicate his understanding, shifting a small bit in the wooden chair as his eyes returned to shifting. He wasn't really sure how comfortable he was here, but it was all he had for the time being; and he wasn't about to be picky.  
  
"If it's important, go on.. I won't go through anything.." Bucky murmured in response, vibranium hand gently rubbing his shoulder; cautious of the bandaging that Steve had wrapped so nicely.  
  
"Thank you for your hospitality.." The brunet slowly added on. He was grateful, anywhere else and he might've been driven out, killed, or about dead by now from his injuries.

Steve nibbled on his bottom lip gently, looking at Bucky and giving a small smile. “It’s not that I don’t trust you not to go through anything. I’m just worried about you. Don’t need you getting a fever or passing out while I’m gone.” He brushed back his hair for a moment, walking to his room and picking up his favorite sketchbook.  
  
He grabbed his messenger bag and his laptop, slipping the sketchbook and laptop into his messenger. He walked back out to Bucky, smiling softly.   
  
“It’s not a problem okay? Just please don’t be dead when I get back.” He didn’t know what compelled him to lean down and press his lips against Bucky’s forehead. He froze and stepped back quickly, blushing slightly. “I um... see ya.” He said quickly and walked out of the townhouse.

Someone being gentle with him, worrying about him, and just being considerate to him.. It was unheard of, it confused him. Especially when he felt Steve's plush lips to his temple. It caused a flutter in his chest that he didn't understand, leaving him to place a hand over his heart and wonder what the sensation was.   
  
Why did he want to cry?  
  
"Be safe.." Bucky said lastly before he left.  
  
And once Steve was gone he got up and began to clean up the first aid kit. The wrappings, pushing the chair back to where it belonged. Picking up his own clothing that he'd put back on later after he let his body breathe for the time being. He'd probably explore the home briefly, see what he could clean up, or put back together. A way of thanks.  
  
He recalled that the work room he had been in previously was in need of a pick up; he'd probably end up spending his time in there and fixing that up. Make something to eat when the smaller man came back since Bucky had no idea when he'd be back.

Steve bit down on his bottom lip, thinking about what he had just done as he made his way to the subway. It was as if something had taken control of him and made him kiss Bucky’s forehead. The soldier could have killed him with a single move. But he didn’t. He had let Steve close enough to kiss his head.  
  
Steve made his way to class on time, slipping into his seat and pulling out his sketchbook and laptop. He spent the next hour doodling in his notebook. He continuously drew Bucky. The way his hair fell in front of his eyes, the way the light gleamed off the metal of his arm.  
  
He stared at the sketchbook page now full of drawings of Bucky. He glanced up, only catching the last few words the professor said before dismissing them.

In the work room, he organized the books, putting any art supplies he found in designated areas as well as collecting all the stray papers and sketch books. He caught himself flipping through the books on occasion to view Steve's art; blown away by it. The landscapes, the people. This guy really did have some sort of talent.  
  
Bucky sat there for a few moments and furrowed his brow. Didn't he know someone who knew how to draw?  
  
He resulted in shrugging it off, finishing up cleaning at his own pace due to his arm.   
  
Everytime he tried to do something though, Bucky caught himself lost in thought about Steve. Something was different about him, other than welcoming his home. And that kiss... He gently pushed his bangs out of the way and touched his forehead. Bucky couldn't remember the last time someone didn't come at him with violent intent. He didn't understand and would probably end up pestering Steve about it when he returned.

Steve made his way back to his home, stopping at the Chipotle on the way there. He wasn’t entirely sure what Bucky would want so he ordered the same thing for the brunette as he did for himself. He sat on the subway, tapping his foot nervously as he thought about coming home to Bucky.  
  
Honestly it /was/ such a nice sentiment. Something that made his stomach flip and butterflies erupt. But he wasn’t sure we. He didn’t /know/ this man. He only knew everything that was wrong about him. Everything that the public and media said about him. But Steve felt a sort of connection to him. A general safe security.   
  
He shook himself from his thoughts, making his way off the train and back into his home.  
  
“Hey. Bucky? You here?” Be called out as he stepped inside, closing the door lightly and locking it once more. He always kept it locked when he was home, though that hadn’t helped last night

By the time Steve had returned, Bucky properly dressed aside from his harness and buckles off. Things he didn't see a reason to wear as of right now, discarded on the couch for the time being. His black boots lined against the wall by the door.  
  
He had been putting together Steve's room, fixing his bed up and picking up anything that needed to be. Avoiding going through things but placing things in their rightful spots. When he heard the man's voice though, he came to see if he was alright. His hair was pulled back now into a loose ponytail and he seemed to hold a bit of a blank look on his face; though that was normal to the extent.  
  
"Welcome back.." He murmured quietly. Though when Bucky looked at the smaller male, all he could think of was how nice Steve had been to him. The kindness he didn't even know existed and how Steve practically blessed him with it.  
  
It make his stomach knot and his mind bewildered but he didn't worry about it for the time being.

Steve glanced around, seeing the subtle differences in cleanliness of his small two bedroom home. He bit his bottom lip gently, glancing up as Bucky walked out of his room. His heart paused at the sight, liking the way that Bucky’s hair was pulled back behind his head. He swallowed slightly, holding up the bag of Chipotle.  
  
“I figured you might be hungry. And I’m glad I brought it because I owe you for tidying up.” He laughed softly. “Come on let’s eat.” He set the bag on the table and walked to the fridge, pulling it open so that he could find something to drink. “Do you want a soda? Or maybe some water?” He glanced over his shoulder at Bucky.

Bucky seemed to silently stare at the bag for a few moments. The hell was chipotle? But when he saw the food his stomach seemed to churn in response; unable to recall the last time he had a real, fresh meal. Most of the time he ended up eating MREs, and those were horrible with taste.   
  
He hooked his finger on the edge of the bag after Steve set it down to peek into it before mustering a response to the blond.   
  
"Soda, please.." Another thing he hadn't had in ages. Atleast, not from what he was able to recall.  
  
"How were your classes..?" He didn't want a stiff silence between the two, and hoped that he could strike a topic that Steve fancied and the male could talk while Bucky listened.

Steve hummed softly and pulled out two sodas, setting them on the table. “I just got you the same thing I did. It’s a chicken bowl, brown rice, lettuce, and pico de gallo.” He mused and smiled softly at Bucky.  
  
“They were good. Honestly I was only half paying attention.” He murmured and chuckled softly. “I was sketching the whole time.” He smiled softly up at Bucky. “Were you okay here by yourself?” He whispered, concern glaring up as he glanced up at Bucky.

When he spoke of drawing, he saw it as a chance to praise his host. His eyes flickered up to Steve almost instantly and his lips pursed momentarily.  
  
"I cleaned up your work room.. And.. saw some of the things you draw.. You're very talented.." Bucky spoke before answering the questions asked of him. "I was fine here.." His tone was quieter now, pulling out a chair for Steve to sit in before taking place in his own.  
  
"Thanks for the food, too.." Despite the quiet and monotone voice, he genuinely meant it. He was beyond grateful to be eating something hot.

Steve glanced up at Bucky, his heart pausing once more as he blushed slightly. “O-oh. I’m so sorry. It’s always a mess in there.” He murmured and rubbed his cheeks. “Thank you though. I...” He swallowed softly and glanced at his messenger bag for a moment. He bit his bottom lip, picking up the bag before pulling out his sketchbook.  
  
He set it on the table, pulling out the food and handing over the bowl to Bucky. He sat down in the chair Bucky pulled out for him, smiling softly. “You can look through them if you want...” he gestured to the sketchbook as he started to dig into his food.

Normally he would've practically dove for the food, but something peaked his interest more so about the sketchbook Steve owned. With his metallic arm, he picked it up and carefully flipped through the pages. His eyes cascaded over the pages as if he would never get to see them again, taking in every little scribble.   
  
What seemed to catch his attention really though were drawings that seemed to be recent. It took a few moments to process what he was seeing then it dawned on him. Steve drew him.   
  
His cheeks flushed and he carefully closed the book up before placing it back on the table. "I.. knew a guy.. he was artistic like you, too. I think i like your drawings more, though.." Bucky mumbled before turning his attention to the bowl handed to him.   
  
Eagerly after that, he began to eat.

Steve’s heart pounded in his chest as Bucky picked up the sketchbook, each breath causing a tightness in his chest. He usually hates people looking at his work. He wouldn’t let anyone touch it. And yet he had willingly offered it to Bucky? He honestly wondered what was going on with him.  
  
“Well... I’m honored.” Steve whispered and blushed lightly, biting down on his bottom lip. “They’re not perfect but I love doing them.” He murmured and continued to eat his food happily. He reached for his soda, popping it open and sipping deeply.

Bucky had never tried anything like this before, so it was definitely an experience he hoped to remember. When he caught himself thinking that, though.. his eyes fluttered shut and he came to a pause.   
  
"You wouldn't happen to have a notebook lying around, would you..?" Bucky asked hesitantly, afraid that maybe he was asking for much. He was already letting Bucky stay here, wrapped him up, even bought him food.   
  
But he wanted to write these things down. New things, slivers of his past that came back to him. He didn't want to forget again. After a few moments, Bucky's eyes opened back up and be poked and prodded at his food.

Steve glanced up at him, head tilted to the side as he smiled softly. “A notebook? Didn’t you see my workroom? I have about a hundred.” He chuckled softly and shook his head. “You can have your pick of whatever’s not scribbled in. Or take something that is scribbled in. I don’t mind honestly.” He mused softly as he stared up at Bucky.  
  
“I have so many that I buy and some of them never even get touched.” He chuckled and ate his food. He finished up a few seconds later, wiping his mouth with a napkin before standing. “Give me one second.” He pushed away from the table and made his way into the workroom. His eyes widened at the organization. Bucky had made everything look immaculate. He made his way over to his desk, rifling through a few notebooks before picking up a dark blue one. He tilted his head to the side and walked back outside, holding the whole stack of empty notebooks, including the blue one. “Here. Take your pick.” He chuckled.

Once Steve up and left, Bucky finished eating shortly after. He still seemed tired though and for once was looking forward to sleeping that night. The strain on his body was tough enough and there was still a throbbing pain in his injury. One that he had grown used to, but still there none the less.  
  
The blue one was the first to catch his eye, something about to seemingly stood out amongst the others. He propped his injured arm against the flat surface and with his prosthetic he grabbed the blue one hesitantly. Bucky looked at the front of it, then the back.   
  
"Can.. Can I keep this one..?" Bucky asked as he looked up to Steve whilst holding the book in his hand.

Steve grinned slightly as he picked out the blue notebook. “Yeah of course.” He hummed and picked up the other notebooks once more, taking them back to the workroom and setting them in a pile on the desk.  
  
“Is your arm doing okay? We should probably change your wrap.”

Bucky immediately opened up the notebook and flipped through the blank pages, a small smile curling onto his face at it. When was the last time he even smiled? This was his. For once in a long time, something was his own.   
  
Bucky snapped from his small trance when hearing the question, returning his attention back to Steve. Another wave of hesitance overwhelming him. He was afraid to be vulnerable infront of others, and at this rate, he'd end up being completely open to Steve.   
  
"It still hurts a bit.. I'm just fortunate it's not infected." Bucky said quietly as his expression faltered.

Steve noted the hesitation in Bucky’s voice, biting his bottom lip tenderly. “I can give you the stuff if you wanna change the wrappings yourself.” He shrugged nonchalantly. “I’ve also got some Advil if you want it for the pain.” He glanced up at Bucky.  
  
He silently wondered if he should back off, maybe leave Bucky alone and not hover so much.  
  
“Did you like the food?” He finally settled on that question instead of the awkward silence.

It was a bit easy to see he was getting mildly uncomfortable, especially with how nonchalant Steve was with him. He was waiting for the knife in the back, something to remind him that life isn't this considerate to him.   
  
"I haven't had a hot meal in decades.. yes, I loved it.. thank you, Steve." Bucky said in response. He still couldn't shake the feeling that he knew this man somehow. But the longer he thought the more his head began to ache and shake his thoughts away. He ended up holding his head in his hand momentarily and lightly pinch the bridge of his noise with a faint noise of discomfort.   
  
"Fuck.." He growled to himself quietly. He wanted to remember, so desperately.

Steve almost jumped forward when Bucky clutched at his head, worry lining his face. But he stood still, swallowing hard and biting his bottom lip roughly. He kept his eyes on Bucky, silently worrying about him.  
  
“It’s not a problem.” He murmured finally, stepping forward and picking up the trash from his food. He tossed it into the trash can, downing the rest of his soda before tossing that away as well.

Bucky had yet to even touch his drink, sighing softly when he gave up for the time being on trying to focus. He just couldn't. His hand dropped and he slouched back in his seat. He was so anxious, so unsuspecting. Bucky was unsure of what would happen and that was what really scared him.   
  
"Hey.. Steve.. Why aren't you afraid..?"


End file.
